


The Importance of Being Chodwer

by Archexile



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ella Fitzgerald - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Pokemon - Freeform, Real Smooth Zimmermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archexile/pseuds/Archexile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a Swasome Santa 2014 story! </p><p>A boring Friday afternoon in the Haus is quickly turned upside down when Eric Bittle realizes he is missing a very important pair of underwear...</p><p>As Ransom and Holster have just gotten the new Pokemon game...</p><p>And Shitty has a hot date...</p><p>Chowder has to learn the importance of being useless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Being Chodwer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skimatic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skimatic/gifts).



> I love comments, please give me them, let me know how I did!

 

The Importance of Being Chowder

It all started with the missing jock strap. Bitty, was so sure he had folded it neatly and placed it in the basket(squarewise, as you are supposed to) after its third drying cycle in the Haus’s rust-bucket dryer. Surely it must be somewhere.

            Bitty turned from his neatly organized underwear drawer. His room was spotlessly clean, not a single misplaced item. His room was so neat and clean, books aligned on the shelf, pens arranged by color in a cup, Queen Bey shimmering on the wall, Queen Bey shimmering on the album covers, Queen Bey shimmering on his favorite mug…

            It was as if she was saying “Sweet Bitty, it’s not in your room.”

            “I know Queen Bey,” Bitty said to the goddess, “but where could it be?”

            He faced the Captain America poster on the back of his door. Steve Rogers was staring him down with a serious look.

            “This,” Captain Rogers said with emphasis, “is no ordinary jock Agent Bittle.” This is was his pair of $27.93 Andrew Christian Coolflex Retro Brief Jocks. The exact pair he had bought as a birthday present to himself while muttering “I’m such a whore for cute things.” Bitty remembered pressing each digit of his debit card on the keyboard, fingers nervously shaking as he had never bought something so complexly satisfying before.

            “But how do I look for it Cap?” Bitty asked the poster, and for a second he thought it was responding as it began moving.

            The door was opening and Bitty nearly shit his pants as Jack entered,

            “You talkin to me Bitty?” Captain Jack asked, as Bitty’s heart dropped like a brick to the floor, nearly pulling the rest of him with it.

            “Oh, oh no, just uhh, just looking for my...uhh… jock strap?”

            “BAIL BAIL BAIL!” Captain America said from his poster.

            “How did _you_ lose a jock strap?” Jack said, with an utterly confused face.

            “Well, gosh, don’t y’all lose things now and then up here in the north?” Bitty replied.

            “Ehh, _we_ all lose things now and then, but _you_ don’t lose things.”

            “I...well...just the other day I lost my...copy of Julia Child’s Cookbook…”

            “Yah mean that one right there?” Jack said, pointing directly behind Bitty at his bookshelf, where the easily 5 lbs. book stood stall in its pleasantly comforting green patterned book jacket.

            “Yes, I forgot I had loaned it…”

            “To…”  
            “To?”

            “To whom did you loan it...to…?”

            “Oh, yes, I loaned it...to...to Chowder,” he was out of the woods, “I had loaned it to Chowder.” Bitty was satisfied with himself.

            Luckily, Bitty didn’t need to abandon the truth any further, as Ransom had fallen down the stairs and into Jack.

            “Goddamnit Holster! I told you not to anger the ghosts! They’re pushing me down stairs now…”

            “Rans, it was just that step you ALWAYS trip on.”

            Bitty could hear what sounded like the snickering of two sophomore girls on the wind. Queen Bey had no answers for him as he looked to her.

            “So Bitty,” Jack said, pushing Ransom off him, “what color’s your underwear?”

            “I…” Bitty blushed, “umm...beg...pardon…”

            “Your jock strap is _missing_.” Jack said.

            “Wait, wait, wait, hold up,” Ransom said, “Bitty _lost_ something?”

            “His jock strap.”

            “What’s going on down there?” Holster yelled.

            “Bitty lost his jock!” Ransom yelled up.

            “His what?” Holster yelled back.

            “HIS JOCK STRAAAAAAAAHHHHPPPPPPPHHHHHHHH!” Ransom called out.

            “You...you know guys, I bet I just left it in the uhh...the uhh…”

            “Laundry room,” Jack said flatly.

            “That place. Well I’ll go look, no need to disturb your days any further.”

            Bitty quickly descended the stairs, and turned left at the disgusting Ebola infected couch, and down into the dungenous basement where the two once beige rust buckets sat. There, of course, was baby Chowder dropping his drawers into the washing machine. Bitty couldn’t help noticing that each pair had an adorable nerd pattern.

            “Hey Eric, I was just doing some laundry, free laundry, free laundry where there are no lines and people don't dump your wet clothes on the floor, want me to do some? I asked Shitty and he gave me some of his...only problem is we have a lot of the same underwear…” Chowder frowned over his braces.

            “You didn’t find anything in the washer did you?”

            “No it was empty,” Chowder said dropping a pair of Wonder Woman boxers in, “I always check.”

            “Did you check the dryer?” Bitty asked nervously looking around the machines, hoping his $27.93 underwear hadn’t fallen into the micey cracks.

            “Not yet, that’s step two, but I guess I can sneak a peek for you,”

            “Oh that’s fine Chowder,” Bitty said.  Chowder went to reach for the dryer door, but Bitty slid across its front, as Chowder’s hand gently grazed Bitty’s thigh.

            They both turned red.

            “I’m...I’m sorry Bitty, guess I checked you there…” Chowder said in his precious little voice. Bitty had no time for Chowder’s intolerable cuteness, he bent over and peered inside the dryer drum. No sign of his precious jock.

            “Gosh darn,” Bitty said as he stomped up the stairs. Nothing left to do but bake a pie. Bitty worriedly shuffled through the living room into the kitchen where he bumped into a mostly naked Shitty.

            Okay, an entirely naked Shitty.

            As Bitty found out, butt on the ground, eye level with Shitty.

            “Ahhh!” Bitty screamed in surprise.

            “Sorry Bitty,” Shitty said extending a hand, “Chowder’s doing my boxers for me.”

            “Oh God Shitty, can’t you put something on?” Shitty took a tea towel from the drying rack and held it in front of himself, shrugging a smile with his stache. “I can’t handle you right now, I have to bake a pie.”

            “What kind of pie, a fruity one?”

            “Hmm…” as the gears start turning, Bitty pined for a pie that reminded him of his lost underwear… “Lost chance pie,” Bitty said, patting a crust into place, “a carton of strawberries, diced, in a chocolate sauce...with a flaky crust, serve with sliced kiwis.”

            “Bitty, we’re out of kiwis. Remember I made Dex shave them all?”

            “Yes, and the coconuts.”

            “Look, we had a lot of extra shaving cream...something up?”  
            “I lost something and I can’t find it…” Bitty explained plopping compote into the pie pan, “which is strange because I never lose anything, even Jack said…”

            Before Bitty could even think about finishing that thought, he ran up the stairs and stopped just short of Jack’s door, where he slowed to a carefully placed walk.

            Bitty hesitated, about to knock, when Jack opened the door, for the second time today, Bitty almost died from Jack opening a door suddenly.

            “Eric,” Jack said.

            “Eric? Who’s…oh, me. ha. well…” Bitty said, losing his mind.

            “You looking for me?”

            “Yes, well,” Bitty looked over Jack’s shoulder. Jack looked at Bitty, wondering what was wrong with him, then followed his gaze over his shoulder...to a pair of bright green and pink Andrew Christian Coolflex Retro Brief Jocks casually lying on the bed.

            There was an awkward pause as Bitty’s heart pounded and Jack’s eyes widened.

            Bitty dove past Jack, as Jack scrambled toward them.

            Jack slipped in his socks onto Bitty who fell to the ground. Bitty clawed his way to the bed, grabbing the covers from the floor as Jack grabbed his hand and tackled Bitty into  a hold.

            “Jaaaaaaaaaack, don’t steal my underwear!” Bitty yelled, louder than he should have.

            There was a weird pause, as Jack relaxed. Bitty turned to look at him.

            “Wait, your underwear?”

            “Yeah, who’d you think they belonged to?”

            Jack blinked.

            “There’s no way.” Jack let go of Bitty and grabbed the pair. He seemed shocked by what he saw in the tag.

            “Well, they’re definitely yours.”

            “Because they’re a size small?”

            “They have your name on them,” Jack said, showing Bitty the gold lettering on the waist band that read “Eric Bittle.”

            Just then, Chowder appeared in the door frame with an identical pair of underwear.

            “Umm, Jack, I was doing Shitty’s laundry and he said these were yours, but not to tell you I know they’re yours...I figured he was joking because, I mean, they’re really more _his_  style. I mean with the butt window and everything…” Chowder was clearly uncomfortable describing what he thought was Shitty’s taste in underwear.

            “Oh, no, those aren’t Jack’s…” Bitty said, reaching for them, “They’re mine Chowder, the ones I was looking for before, Shitty was pulling a prank on you…” Bitty said taking them from him and closing the door before Chowder could object.

            Bitty let out a sigh. Jack and Bitty tossed each other their pair.

            The silence was awkward.

Jack didn’t take it well, he started explaining…

“You uhh, you must have, left them here the other night...ehh?”

“I...I must have taken yours by accident…” Bitty said, backing up against the door.

“I should have told you I had a pair…” Jack said, walking closer.

“When you said you’d like to see me in something…”

“You think is sexy,” Jack said, placing a hand on Bitty’s shoulder.

The moment was ruined swiftly, by Ransom, thundering down the stairs, and they both knew it was Ransom, because loud moans kept complaining about ghosts.

Jack and Bitty laughed, opening the door.

 

…

“Goddamnit those ghosts are OUT TO GET ME!” Ransom yelled up to Holster,” Jack and Bitty looked down at the pitiful mess that was Ransom in his pj’s. They were both still holding their Andrew Christian Cooflex Retro Brief Jocks. Upon realizing this, they quickly exchanged them, and threw them behind each other, where they fell in opposite directions.

“Are you okay?” Bitty asked.

“No Bittle, I’m not,” Ransom said, rising to his knees, “there are two ghosts are having way too much fun with me today. Jack inspected the steps.

“I better call Johnson,” Jack said.

“Johnson?” Bitty asked.

“Johnson used to do all of the handiwork, something about white borders not painting themselves…” Shitty ascended the stairs, in a pair of maroon silk boxers.

“Everyone alright?” He asked.

“Whoa, Shitty, you got a date tonight?” Holster asked from the attic door.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do, and I’d prefer to leave the way to my room bloodless.”

“I’m fine, but those ghosts won’t,” Ransom said.

“Looks like that step needs to be fixed,” Shitty said, pointing out the obvious.

And the five of them, five adult men, five hockey players, stared at that step with absolutely no clue what to do.

“Well I can fix it,” Holster said.

The laughter started with Shitty and built into a roar as Bitty, Ransom and even Jack got into it.

“OH COME ON!” Holster shouted, “I HAVE TOOLS!”

This did not calm the roar.

Chowder had come up, to see what the commotion was about,

“What’s so funny guys?” He asked,

“Holster thinks that because he watched Mr. Carson shine shoes on Downton Abbey that he can fix a staircase,” Shitty explained.

“In the mean time, I’m using the ladder,” Ransom said, heading downstairs to prop up a ladder to their window.

“What is this Clarissa Explains it all?” Bitty said, to no avail, as his teammates stared at him blankly.

“I GOT THAT REFERENCE!” Holster shouted from above.

“Okay, well I left a pie on the counter,” Bitty said, looking for an exit.

“Oh, ahem, Bitty, I uhh, have a play I want to go over with you…” Jack said, “In my room, now...before I see Coach…”

Bitty was a bit confused, “But Jack we don’t have a...ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” It clicked with Bitty, and everyone else, as he followed Jack into his room.

“I can fix it…” Chowder said to Shitty.

Shitty placed a firm hand on Chowder’s shoulder, “Now my dear Chowder, that is brave of you to say, but we all know that none of us are capable of doing anything useful while inside of this house.”  Chowder meekly handed Shitty a pair of Jane Austen boxers from the stash, “Why thank you my fine sir, now please, make yourself at home and accomplish something useless.”

Chowder took a long look at the stairs leading to the attic. There were only 10 of them. Chowder went out to do something useless.

…

Ransom climbed into the window of his and Holster’s room. Holster was wearing his Samwell Sweats. He could hear slight giggles on the wind as a breeze blew into the room from the open window.

“I need to study!” Ransom moaned, curling into a ball on the floor.

“Aww, poor lamb,” Holster got on the floor next to him and spooned him, kissing the back of his neck.

“No,” Ransom said, “you’re mean,” pulling away.

“Me, mean? I’m not the one procrastinating.”

“You want the ghosts to get me,” Ransom said in his play voice.

“Oh come on Rans, how can they get you when I’m with you literally every second of the day?”

They both heard a very Sitcom “ooooooooooo” from the blowing wind that blew the door shut.

“Look, they want something to happen,” Ransom said.

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts Rans,” Holst said with a smirk.

“I don’t, this is just a convenient way to procrastinate...making up fake characters, imagining they affect you emotionally and psychologically…”

“Well then why don’t you sit down, and play Pokemon with me,” Holster said pulling out his 3DS.

“Oh good, does this mean you’re going to trade me that shiny Hitmonchan?” Ransom asked excitedly.

“Yeah sure, get your game out, I have 6 I want to send you.” Holster.

“Six? You restarting your game or something?”

“Yeah, I want to restart and EV a Treecko,” Holster said thumbing his gamepad.

“What? I thought you were doing a competition level Blaziken this time…” Ransom said loading the Global Trade System on his game.

“Yeah, so just send me Zigzagoons you don’t want or something,” Holster said moving away so Ransom couldn’t see his screen.

“Why are you moving?” Ransom asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay,” Ransom frowned in confusion, Holster wasn’t the best at surprises. Once he had gotten Ransom a copy of Dr. Zoidberg’s “Dealing with Undiagnosed Test Anxiety, a Fun and Friendly Guide to Existential Fear.” Ransom appreciated the implied heart of the gift, but found it a bit heavy handed. Holster got a jab in the arm in return.

            “Okay, I’m sending,” his roommate said. Ransom watched his screen as his little Zigzagoon went off to Holster and in return came a Beartic named “I.”

            “What kind of nickname is ‘I?” Ransom asked.

            “I hit the buttons too quickly, sorry.”

“You know, he’s a lot like Jack,” Ransom laughed, “Big frosty giant…”

“Beartic has no ass though, just a tail.”

“Haha, that’s true man, oh you’re sending me a…” Holster got up and went to the door, “where are you going?”

“Piss, don’t stop trading.”

“Nasty,” Ransom said as Holster descended the stairs. He could hear some sort of banging at the bottom.

“Chowder, what are you doing?” Holster said at the bottom of the stairs.

“Something useless,” Ransom heard Chowder say in his little frog voice.

“Okay, just don’t try too hard,” Holster said closing the bathroom door.  Ransom looked down at his game, Holster had sent him a Clampearl named “Love.”

“Why did he name it that?” Ransom thought, realizing how he had made a joke, _clam_ Chowder… the next Pokemon was a Probopass, with its giant mustache it looked just like Shitty...and was named “You.” Ransom didn’t think much of it, Holster usually didnt take much care in naming his Pokemon. He liked to leave people with dumb Pokemon nicknames. Bitty was very upset to get a Lickitung named “JacklyksBitty.”

The next Pokemon was a Lickitung, just like Bitty’s, named “Rans,” the next a Chansey (Nursey?) named “som.”

“Wait, what?” Ransom said, reading back the names of the Pokemon, “I Love you Ran som,” he read aloud. He looked up from the game to see if there were any ghosts. Surely this was their work, not that he’d admit it. This, this would be proof to Holster that there _were_ ghosts in this attic.

The next Pokemon would prove it. This last one was the  promised shiny Hitmonchan, it’s name was “Love Holster.”

Ransom looked up, he hadn’t heard Holster come up the stairs. He was standing with the sound system remote in his hand. He clicked a button, to Ransom’s surprise it wasn’t Rhianna that started playing but was instead “Mandolin Wind,” an old love song from one of Holster’s more intimate mixes.

“I love you Justin Oluransi,”

“I love you too Adam Birkholtz.”

And as the mandolin played, there was a tender kiss.

 

…

Chowder heard Shitty’s Ella Fitzgerald record playing as he walked past his room. He had just finished tapping nails quietly into the steps leading to the attic (as he didn’t want to _disturb_ anyone). Shitty’s door was ajar, Chowder could see him spraying his distinct musk from a well known fashion cologne bottle. Shitty brushed his mustache, it’s glorious girth shining in the dorm room light.

“Ahh Chowder my boy, I see you have completed yet another useless enterprise, please come assist in another,” Shitty invited Chowder in, despite the frog’s reluctance toward intruding on what he definitely thought was the absolute creation of a man. “Now, Chowder, help me pick a shirt,” Shitty said, indicating three shirts on the bed, each a formal plaid of one form or another.

“Well, I like that one,” Chowder said, pointing to a forest green plaid with blue lining, “it matches your eyes.”

“I do think you’re right Chowder, I have to look my best tonight. I have a date with the finest woman in town.” Just then, a rock hit Shitty’s window, “that must be her now.” Shitty opened the window, Chowder peered out below.

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the…” Lardo paused looking to see if Shitty’s was actually East of her “North! and Shitty is the...Sun!”

“Lardo, Lardo, where the hell are we going tonight Lardo?” He called down from his balcony.

“Put a shirt on and you’ll find out!” She shouted up.

Shitty pulled his shirt on, Chowder helped him button it. He threw on his “nice” jacket and sped down the stairs, “Order a pizza m’boy, it’s on the Haus! Invite the frogs, pull out the stops, get the boys out of their beds!”

Chowder was in shock as Shitty pressed two hundred dollar bills into his hand. That was two more hundred dollar bills than Chowder had ever seen. He texted Dex and Nursey as Shitty clicked his heels at the front door.

 

…

 

Outside Lardo looked resplendent in her A-line dress which had a nice skirt, a twirlable skirt. They were going dancing. Lardo produced from the pocket of her dress a slip of paisley fabric.

“Blindfold,” she suggested. He leaned over so she could tie it around his eyes. She pulled him by the hand forward. Shitty heard the car door open, he sat down into the car with only a small bit of slapstick tomfoolery.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“You’ll see.” Lardo started the car and they drove off, “We’ve got a bit of time,” she turned on the radio, a CD of Ella Fitzgerald was playing.

“Oh, is this the one I made you?”

“No, it’s the one _I_ made _you_.”

“Oh, gawrsh,” Shitty said in a goofy voice.

“How’re the boys tonight? They okay to leave alone?”

“Yeah, Jack and Bitty are awkwardly avoiding the premise of intimacy while they fuck the fuck out of each other and Ransom and Holster just started courting.”

“It’s nice to be hetero-normative isn’t it,” Lardo said with a laugh.

“Won’t last long, I told Chowder to throw a party.”

“Oh, well say goodbye to The Haus,” they both laughed. Shitty put his hand on Lardo’s as she upshifted. He loved her old Volvo wagon.

Shitty felt the car stop and go a few times, they were probably in Boston now, eventually they came to a stop, Lardo got out and helped him to his feet.

“Now, I’m glad you didn’t wear your nice nice shoes, just your shitty nice shoes, because you’re getting a little muddy.”

“What, are we going clam digging? Frog hunting? Oil drilling?”

Lardo reached up and lifted the blindfold up.

Shitty opened his eyes to one of Boston’s famous Duck Boats, decorated with paper lanterns and Chirstmas lights. It shone on the muddy shore, thick WWII era tires pressing into the mud, a little staircase like one on a private jet leading up to the deck.

“Oh, oh Lardo, this is,” he felt a tear roll down his cheek.

“Come on Shits,” she pulled him aboard, and the troop carrier got underway onto the Charles River.

And Ella came with them. The captain of the ship dropped a needle onto a record player, “Drop that long face / Come on have your fling / Why keep nursing the blues? / If you want this old world on a string…”

Lardo took Shitty’s hand and put it on her waist. They rocked back and forth at the bow of the ship as it ploughed through the green river waters. Boston was alight with traffic on either shore, each side falling away as the boat made for the harbor.

“Put on your dancing shoes / stop wasting time / put on your dancing shoes / watch your spirits climb / Shall we dance / or keep on mopin’? / Shall we dance / And walk on air?” Ella sang.

Shitty bent to Lardo’s ear as they held each other close.

“You know, Margaret Thatcher loved this song,” he said, she laughed into his chest. She sang a little with Ella in a sweet birdy soprano, “Shall we give in to despair? / or shall we dance with never a care?” Unfortunately Shitty joined in on the next line, but Lardo was content to rock back and forth, and enjoy the sound of the engine.

“I love you,” Shitty said to Lardo tenderly.

“I know,” she said, successfully pulling off a Han Solo. Shitty laughed and pulled her close, but lost his balance and fell onto Lardo, crushing her against the railing.

“Good thing I wasn’t wearing heels,” he said balancing on one foot. The boat tipped a bit, banking to come back in, and Shitty felt a tug, which he thought was Lardo pulling him in for a kiss, but was actually outward g forces pulling him over the railing.

Lardo screamed as he splashed about, she threw a life preserver and it landed neatly over his head. When Lardo and the boat captain finally pulled him on, was slapping his jacket pockets and looking about his clothes.

“Shitty, are you okay?” She asked, as the captain put a blanket over him.

“I’m fine, just wet is all, but I…”

The captain went back to radio for an ambulance to meet them at the shore.

Shitty looked in his jacket pocket, and was dismayed to see something wasn’t there.

“Oh, Shitty,” Lardo said slipping something into it.

He looked and saw it was what he had lost.

She squatted down, he pulled the little box out of his jacket. Inside was Lardo’s favorite flavor of Ring Pop, cherry red.

"Lardo will you get stoned and watch Spongebob with me even after I graduate which I'm really anxious about and I'm afraid we're going to drift apart."

“Only if you promise not to wear pants.”

“Deal, let’s kiss on it.”

And they kissed, their hilarious fake, too much tongue funny kiss. They both burst out laughing as the little Duck Boat drove onto the shore.

 

...

Chowder had done something truly useful at last. He had called Dex and Nursey for a party. The two had been unswayed by the prospect of walking across campus in the cold night to their team’s humble Haus for a party. While they both loved Chowder dearly, they knew that out of all the people to throw a party, he was not the one they would have picked. Why Shitty, party master, crafter of the term “kegster,” would charge Chowder with the important task of a Friday night Haus party.

Sure enough, the Haus was quiet as the two boys approached, it was strangely quiet as the two frogs stepped onto the front porch and opened the door.

There was an explosion of noise, “Surprise!” was the yell. Dex jumped clear into Nursey’s arms as Nursey screamed his lungs out.

“Aww it’s just the frogs!” Holster said. “Come on guys get a hiding spot,” Dex got down from Nursey, they both frowned at each other in mild disgust.

“Who are we surprising?” Nursey asked.

“Shitty proposed to Lardo tonight,” Bitty said.

“What, no way!” Dex said.

“Yeah, our precious little Chowder found the ring box in his pocket,” Ransom said with his arm around Chowder’s shoulders.

“He gave me two hundred dollars, I assumed so we could throw them a party,” Chowder explained as he put a moldy party hat on Dex’s ginger head.

“Shit guys that’s Lardo’s car!” Holster called out, the whole group of partiers. Frogs and teammates, girlfriends and boyfriends, friends of Lardo’s friends of Shitty’s, ducked low behind couches and and in amongst kegs.

“Where’s Jack?” Dex whispered to Bitty.

“He said he’d be down _after_ Shitty and Lardo got back.”

“What, is he going to sing?” Nursey suggested.

“I wish,” Bitty said.

They heard the steps on the porch, and could hear Shitty say, “Shit, there’s supposed to be a party, why else would I give Chowder money and tell him to throw a party?”

The door opened, and everyone shouted “surprise!”

Lardo and Shitty jumped back in shock and laughed.

“What’re you surprising us for?” Lardo asked.

“No really though, why all the pageantry?” Shitty asked.

“Well, Chowder said you’re getting married,” Bitty explained.

“What? OH THE RING!” Shitty realized.

He and Lardo let out the biggest laughs of the night as Chowder grew the sneaking suspicion that he was about to die of embarrassment. Jack came downstairs, unsurprised by everyone’s reaction.

“Sorry, I only marry men who wear pants,” Lardo said sarcastically.

“And I’m too sober to marry anyone,” Shitty added.

“Let’s not let this go to waste,” Shitty declared, “While Lardo and I may only be celebrating our mutual love of the great Mary Jane, we must commend the talent and effort of our boy Chowder for not only getting Jack to sing but also for fixing the stairs to the attic, three cheers for Chowder!”

“I heard you’re getting married,” Jack joked to his best friend, “I would have gotten you a card.”

“Aww you wouldn’t have,” Shitty said hugging his best friend.

Jack turned to Bitty, “Told you,” he said pulling his boyfriend close, holding him by the hips.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, wishful thinking,” Bitty said, looking up at Jack.

Chowder was thoroughly dismayed as the party erupted into wonderful chaos. Shitty was already doing a keg stand as someone pulled his pants off him. Lardo was showing off her Ring Pop to her friends. Ransom and Holster were singing “You Give Love a Bad Name” with the karaoke machine Chowder had borrowed.

He sat on his new stairs, looking down at the mess he created. Nursey and and Dex came up and sat with him.

“Nice stairs bud,” Nursey said.

“They’re the team colors,” Dex pointed out.

Chowder smiled, he wasn’t sure why everyone was so happy, but at least he’d done nothing of any importance at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> If someone could guide me on the formatting in AO3 I'll go back and correct it....


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